It’s already been a week since I moved in with my cousin sister and her family. Following my parents passing a year ago, I wrapped up my time at boarding school. As an only child, I never had biological siblings, and now, I’m exactly one month away from turning 18.
"The idea of going back to that cold mansion was frightening, even though I had lived alone for most of my life while my parents traveled. I didn't even know if it was legally possible for me to live by myself, considering I wasn't an adult yet. But on the final day of my exams, Steve—my late father’s lawyer and trust manager—called. He told me that my cousin Martha had invited me to live with her family. I agreed readily, though not without a sense of apprehension; I had only ever met her once, many years ago, at a Christmas party my parents hosted.
I really am grateful that she took me in. A sense of belonging, someone to actually care for me—that was what I had always craved. But something just doesn't feel right. For starters, it has been a week since I moved in, and Martha has barely spoken to me, only exchanging words in passing or when absolutely necessary. Now, I can't help but wonder if I'm imposing on her, or if I'm nothing more than a hindrance."
“Sophie, can you please come down?” Martha shouts from downstairs.
I let out a heavy sigh, get up from the bed, and leave my book face down on the mattress. I walk down to the family room, where Martha and her husband, Elijah, are sitting at the dining table. Elijah is at the head of the table, with Martha to his left. She gestures for me to take the seat opposite her.
I slide slowly into the chair, which places me directly to Elijah's right. He is buried behind a newspaper. It has been a few years since I last saw him, likely at some distant family gathering in the past, though we never actually spoke back then. He travels constantly for his business and only just arrived home today, making this our first real face-to-face meeting.
“We need to talk to you about your future,” Martha says, cutting straight to the point. “Have you decided where you want to apply for your undergraduate program?”
My palms begin to sweat. Being under her sharp scrutiny is intimidating enough, but Elijah’s silent presence beside me—even hidden behind the barrier of his newspaper—is downright daunting.
“I... I was thinking that once I turn eighteen, I’m going to take a gap year,” I stammer. “Do some traveling, and then decide about the rest later.”
At that, Elijah closes the newspaper slowly and methodically. I watch his large hands fold the paper with deliberate gentleness. When my eyes move away from the paper, they trail up to his broad chest, but I find myself unable to raise my gaze any higher.
I quickly look down at my lap instead, my fingers jittering against my palms. I don't know why my heart is beating right out of my chest; I’ve always been an introvert who hates attention, happiest when hidden away in a quiet corner with a book.
I can feel a piercing gaze locking onto me, but before the tension can break, the silence is shattered by the ringing of Martha’s phone. She excuses herself to answer it and walks away.
Left alone with him, I finally force myself to look up. My gaze instantly clashes with Elijah’s. He is already watching me, his face entirely expressionless, his eyes unblinking and intense.
The sheer weight of it is overwhelming, and I quickly drop my eyes to his chin, unable to hold his gaze. My entire body feels heavy, frozen, as if a single wrong breath might trigger a catastrophe. Taking a sharp gulp of air, I clear my throat to break the suffocating quiet.
“Hi, I’m Sophie,” I mutter softly, looking anywhere but at his eyes.
Silence stretches between us. Just when I think he isn't going to reply at all, he finally speaks.
“I know who you are, Sophie. It's nice to meet you.”
His gravelly voice is deep and heavy, sounding almost rusty, as if he rarely uses it. The sound sends a sudden shiver straight down my spine.
“Thanks for letting me stay here,” I tell him, my voice barely a whisper.
“Look at me when you talk to me,” he commands.
My body coils tight like a wound spring, and I slowly look up at him again.
“It's your home now too, Sophie,” he replies, his expression perfectly unreadable.
Only temporary, I think to myself.
I have never come across a man like him. He looks so serious, intense, and extremely handsome in a dangerous kind of way. He watches me as if he can read my mind—as if he already knows I find him beautiful—and the sheer weight of his stare makes me squirm in my seat. Unable to take it, I break contact first, dropping my gaze back to my fingers clenching in my lap.
“So, have you traveled before? Alone?” he asks.
I simply shake my head.
“I'm not going to have a conversation with the top of your head, Sophie. I want 'yes' or 'no' answers coming directly from your lips.”
At his words, my lips suddenly feel completely dry. I lick them instinctively and force my eyes back up to meet his. His gaze immediately drops to my moist lips before flicking back up to my eyes. His jaw clenches hard. Realizing I still owe him an answer, I quickly find my voice.
“No, I haven’t traveled alone... In fact, I have never traveled anywhere outside of London.”
“Mmm,” he grunts softly. “But your parents traveled frequently.”
My cheeks heat with sudden embarrassment. How could I possibly explain the truth to him? How could I admit that my parents loved each other—and their freedom—far more than they ever loved me? From childhood, even during holidays, I was always left behind in the care of a housekeeper and a nanny. Loneliness was all I knew; a solitary existence had simply become my way of life.
As if he can read the agonising thoughts racing through my mind, he moves on. “I’m not going to let you travel alone. You are my ward until you turn eighteen, which is a month away. We will revisit this topic then.”
I’m his ward? Not Martha’s? Confusion twists in my chest, but I don't dare voice it.
“That being said, I want you to decide on an undergraduate program and a college,” he continues, his voice leaving no room for argument. “If you want my help in deciding, let me know.”
I instinctively begin to nod, but his piercing gaze sharpens, reminding me of his rules. I force the words past my lips. “Yes, thank you. I will let you know,” I reply softly.
Internally, I am begging for this interrogation to end. I can’t handle his suffocating scrutiny for another second.
“I will be taking care of all your needs from now on,” he says. He leans forward, placing his large hands flat on the table.
I instinctively shrink back into my seat.
“And I hope you will not be giving me any trouble,” he murmurs, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You will follow all my commands without any hesitation.”
Completely overwhelmed, I nod my head in total submission, the words barely a breathy whisper. “I will not disappoint you, sir.”
“Mmm. I’ll hold you to that,” he says, finally moving away from the table. “You are dismissed.”
I jerk away from the table as if it's on fire and scramble to my feet. In my haste to turn and run, my chair tips backward, wobbling precariously. I pivot instantly, panicking as I try to catch it before it crashes to the floor with a loud bang.
Before I can grab it, a sudden shadow looms over me. Elijah is right behind me, bending over my frame. He catches the falling chair effortlessly with his left hand, while his right arm snakes around my waist, pulling my body flush against his chest.
“Careful,” he mutters directly against my ear.
The low vibration of his voice sends a violent shiver straight down my spine. His upper body is completely molded to my back, his hips resting firmly against mine. Slowly, deliberately, he straightens both me and the chair together.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
Overwhelmed by his proximity, I instinctively shake my head, keeping my eyes glued to the floor.
The hand around my waist tightens instantly, pinning me in place. At the same time, his other hand moves to the front of my neck, his fingers curling gently but possessively around my throat. He tilts my head back, forcing me to look up at him. The back of my head rests against his solid chest as I gaze up at his face.
This close he is even more handsome and intimidating, its as if everything about him attracts people into his thrall, and right now I’m that person.
“You will use words when I ask you a question, Sophie,” he commands, his eyes dropping from my gaze down to my lips.
“I’m fine, sir,” I say quietly, my voice trembling.
“Mmm,” he groans softly, his gaze lingering. “That you are. Go ahead. We will discuss your schedule further after we finish dinner. Meet me in the study at seven.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
The moment he lets me go, I move up the stairs as fast as my legs can carry me, as if the devil himself is chasing me. I can feel the weight of his eyes burning into my back all the way until I finally disappear from his view. Hurrying into my room, I shut the door, lean against it, and force myself to take a deep, shaky breath.
I don’t understand why he makes me so incredibly nervous. I’ve never been a fragile or fearful girl. Yet, nothing in my entire life has ever scared me the way he does.
Dinner goes by uneventfully. He chooses what I eat, plating my food himself before placing it directly in front of me. He nods toward the plate. “Go ahead. I want that completed,” he commands.
Martha has already started plating her own food and eating. I wait until Elijah plates his own meal, and only when he takes his first bite do I begin to eat. I don't know why I wait for his permission, but it seems to please him; a tiny, ghost of a smile plays at his lips, though I'm not sure if I just imagined it.
We all eat in total silence. Martha occasionally asks mundane questions, which he answers in short, one-word responses. They don't seem close at all; in fact, they hardly even look at each other when they speak.
After dinner, Martha moves to the family room, and I hear the low rumble of the television. Meanwhile, I stay exactly where I am, waiting until Elijah finishes his dinner while keeping my eyes glued to my lap. The sharp clatter of his cutlery against the plate breaks the silence. I look up, and he is already watching me with that same intense stare.
“I can help you clear the table,” I offer quietly.
He nods once. I begin clearing the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen, which runs parallel to the dining area. I thought the kitchen and dining area were huge in our home which was always empty because i was always eating alone.
But this kitchen is something else, so modern with expansive layout, high-end materials, huge french windows opening into a large back garden. I don’t understand how only two people need something this big. I would love to spend time here baking, but i don’t want to take my liberties. I place the dirty plates in the sink while Elijah silently packs away the leftovers into the refrigerator.
I might as well just finish washing them, I think to myself. I fill the basin with warm water, add some soap, and scrub the plates before leaving them to soak.
Even with my back turned, I can feel Elijah’s eyes boring into me. I take a quick glance over my shoulder and find him leaning casually against the kitchen island, sipping his whiskey and watching my every move. I turn back around quickly, my breath hitching in my throat. This was a terrible mistake. I shouldn't have stayed behind. I only wanted to help—I didn't want to be a burden on them.
Panic rising, I try to yank the stopper out of the drain to let the soapy water empty, but it refuses to budge. I am still wrestling with it when I suddenly feel Elijah slide in directly behind me.
He methodically rolls up his right sleeve and plunges his hand into the warm water right next to mine. His palm slides over the back of my hand, trapping my fingers against the plastic stopper. He grips it firmly and pulls. The stopper comes away effortlessly.
I stand completely paralyzed through it all, his large body pressed flush against mine all the way from his waist up to his chest.
“You’ve done enough. Go back to your room,” he rumbles against my back.
The low vibration of his voice reverberates straight through my body. I slide away from him slowly, my limbs feeling heavy, as if I am dragging myself out of quicksand.
Before I can escape the kitchen, his voice cuts through the quiet, stopping me dead in my tracks.
“There are people hired to do everything in this house, Sophie. Next time, don’t involve yourself.”
Hot tears sting my eyes at his harsh, dismissive words. My throat tightens, but I force myself to nod. “Yes, sir. Goodnight,” I whisper quickly.
I practically flee the kitchen, hurrying back up to my room to escape his crushing presence.
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